


Exile for Two

by wcdarling



Series: In Exile [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conversations, Discrimination, Drama, Episode Related, Exile, Friendship, Garashir - Freeform, Genetic Engineering, Genetically Engineered Beings, M/M, Starting Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wcdarling/pseuds/wcdarling
Summary: Garak is busy working on a wedding dress when he gets a call from Bashir. He's cancelling lunch again? Actually the matter is quite a bit more serious. AU take on "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?"





	1. Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, I return to a favorite theme of mine and pretty much spin out a story that's the opposite, mirror course of my earlier story ["May I Come In?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7458433). Same episode, but if the final outcome in the episode ["Dr. Bashir, I Presume?"](http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Doctor_Bashir,_I_Presume_\(episode\)) had gone differently. 
> 
> I've been working on this story for a while, even while I was posting ["One and Only"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7918279), and had it outlined as of around a month ago. However, between an out-of-town conference lasting several days, my day job, and editing a novel (not my own), I couldn't even begin to start on this. But finally I have.
> 
> Not beta'd by anyone. Tags will probably change as the story progresses. I expect about four chapters, as that's what's outlined, but one never knows how much characters want to talk or what they might demand to get up to.
> 
> Wendy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoy writing these conversations. I never know what's going to pop out of Garak's mouth until it happens. Bashir is as surprised as I am.

Garak was only a few centimeters from the end of the seam when he heard the chime of the comm alert from his sales desk. Even though it was the custom chime signaling a call from Doctor Bashir, he did not cease pushing the fabric through the stitcher. This seam had to be straight and flawless, for it was the front of a wedding dress and the fabric was expensive and hard to come by. After seconds that felt longer, he reached the hem and flipped off the switch. _There, done._

Moving swiftly to the comm unit, he pressed his finger to the still flashing light. No doubt Bashir would once again be late for their lunch meeting, but it seemed for a change he was giving advance notice. 

"Yes, Doctor?" he began affably. "Calling about lunch?"

After a longer than expected pause and what sounded like a muffled cough, Bashir replied. "No, actually. Could you come up to my quarters?"

"Certainly." Garak glanced toward the wedding dress in progress. "How long will this be? Will we be having lunch there?" 

"Um." A pause. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know how long it will be, Garak. But I need you up here. _Urgently_.”

Bashir was definitely not calling about lunch. "Alright, dear doctor. I'll close up shop." Fortunately, he still had a couple of days to finish the dress. "You sound upset. Why don't you sit down and take some deep breaths? I'll be right up."

After closing up shop, Garak made his way through the Promenade and up toward the crew habitat ring, all the while turning over in his mind what could have Bashir so distressed. It couldn't be a medical, security or other emergency he'd call station personnel on. The doctor was quite capable and it was doubtful he'd be calling Garak to his quarters on a station matter in any case. And Bashir wouldn’t embarrass himself by calling about a fashion crisis, even though the young man undoubtedly would benefit from his advice. 

What did that leave? Garak’s mind turned to a thought that had surfaced a few times in recent weeks. As much as he told himself he didn’t care for anyone’s welfare but his own, he did worry over the doctor’s well-being. Perhaps was Bashir suddenly reacting to the deprivations and abuse he'd undergone at the internment camp? Garak knew the doctor had been required to file a report on it after returning to the station, but he’d never heard a word directly from him about what had transpired during the month of his imprisonment. If he were having trouble due to Camp 371 now, perhaps Bashir had decided to reach out to him, owing to their mutual experience. After all, the doctor certainly wasn’t going to turn to Worf for comfort.  

It was with this in mind that Garak approached the entry to Bashir's quarters. After straightening his neckline and discreetly smoothing his hair, he pressed the panel button to request visitor entry. Almost before he had stepped away from the wall, the door opened. Raising his eyebrows, Garak pivoted and walked in.

He found the doctor sitting on the sofa, head his hands. He was out of uniform, in black trousers with a green and gray striped top Garak had never seen. The shirt was frayed at the collar and cuffs, he noticed as he got closer and took a seat. Something old and comfortable – as opposed to Bashir, who was young and looked distinctly uncomfortable, now that he looked up. In fact, the doctor's expression conveyed the aftermath of shock: weariness and disbelief. 

"You came," he observed quietly. 

"You did ask me to and specified _urgent_ , doctor." Garak leaned back in his chair, making a show of examining his friend and the room. "Although I don't see an emergency. Not a physical one anyway. What is it you need from me?"

The doctor leaned back slightly, not relaxing in the slightest, and put his hands together so that all the fingertips were touching. "I'm not sure what I need from you, Garak, except to be here and listen to me. I— I need someone to talk to, and everyone else is inappropriate. While you... I think you might be _perfectly_ appropriate, as disturbing as it is for me to admit it."

Garak gave his friend a speculative look. "I'm even more intrigued. You need to talk to me about something that anyone else on this station, including your friends, might find an unfit or uncomfortable subject of conversation?" 

"Yes." Bashir set his hands flat on his thighs. "Now, before I begin, I have to ask you. Have you heard any station news or gossip about me within say the past twelve hours?  

Garak hadn't. While he normally kept an ear out for chatter, the night before and that morning, he had been honestly focused on his work, sleeping, and the book he and Bashir had been set to discuss over lunch. 

"No, nothing."

Bashir glared, and not playfully either. "Promise me, no games, Garak. I have something to tell you and I do not want you, after I've spent time laying it out, announcing to you already knew."

Garak put up his hands. "I swear. I don't know how exactly I can guarantee myself in such a pledge, but take my word, I've heard nothing."

The young doctor's gaze softened. "Alright. Well, on the chance you really haven't been monitoring intel this morning, I'll tell you." He took a long, deep breath, followed by a slow exhale. "I've been exiled."

And Bashir had been skeptical of _him!_

"I don't believe you." 

"It's true," the human insisted.  

"You're joking." And what an _unfunny_ joke it was. 

"Do you really think, Garak, that I would joke about exile?" Bashir asked slowly, hands now balled together. "Joke with _you_? About _that_?"

"The Federation does not exile its citizens, doctor."

"Not as such," Bashir admitted, dropping his gaze to the floor for a moment.

When he looked up, his eyes were blazing. "However, what would you call it if a Starfleet officer, a doctor, has been stripped of his commission, his medical license... has been told he cannot practice medicine within Federation space... and been told his Federation citizenship status and right to self-determination is 'provisional' if he should remain within Federation space?” Bashir’s face was flushed, although he was obviously trying to keep his expression neutral for the moment. “If he's been told, if indirectly, that the best option for him would be to move to a non-aligned world or perhaps settle in the Gamma Quadrant? If he were staring at the fact that a return to his home planet would mean people turning his back on him?" His hands were clenched on his knees. "What would you call that, if not exile?"

Garak opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, by force of habit, but then quickly shut it. That description did indeed sound like exile, or its Federation equivalent. And the doctor's tone of voice and now the set of his eyes convinced him: this was no joke or attempt at gest. He was quite serious. 

"Doctor, I believe you mean it."

" _Yes_!" Bashir declared forcefully. The poker face was gone, replaced by a flicker of anger. "I mean it. I have been _exiled_. I'm out of Starfleet, out of uniform, you might have noticed, and you can stop calling me 'doctor,' except as a nickname, because at the moment I haven't got that status anymore." He gazed around the living area, then gestured with one hand. "In fact I haven't even got a place to live – I'm told I may remain in these quarters a few days, but then I have to work something else out." 

There again was that that expression on Bashir's face, only now it made so much more sense: shock. 

Garak was feeling rather shocked himself. He was quickly warming to the idea that Bashir did indeed find himself a _persona non grata_ within the Federation. However, the doctor – and he _was_ a doctor, no matter what his license or title – was a gifted professional and officer. What could he have done, besides offenses which would have landed him in the brig, to earn such sanction? 

"Alright, Bashir," he conceded. "Suppose I take your words at face value, which as much as my mind screams against it, does seem like a possibility I ought to entertain. Tell me: Why has the Federation _exiled_ you?"

Those soft brown eyes swept down toward the floor; Bashir exhaled through his nose. "I'm genetically engineered, genetically enhanced." 

The doctor still wasn't looking up, but Garak could still study his face as he made this confession. It was the face of someone pronouncing the name of something they loathed.  

" _Genetically engineered_." He had not foreseen this although, yes, it could fit certain patterns.  

"I see. Can I assume this has always been this case?" he asked carefully, looking to begin assembling the facts. 

Bashir flinched as he looked up. "Actually no, it hasn't _always_ been the case. My parents had it done when I was a child. Full enhancement – intelligence, reflexes, strength, etc. However, Starfleet and the Federation just found out, through a series of… unfortunate events." 

One piece in the puzzle. "And this merits all the penalties you've named?"

"At minimum, yes. Genetically enhanced individuals are not allowed to serve in Starfleet and are not allowed to hold medical licenses or practice medicine anywhere in Federation space," he explained. "The other things I've mentioned aren't regulation _per s_ e but simple facts. I won't be able to get a job now that this is known, through simple bias – although supposedly such bias doesn’t exist – and I can't go back to Earth. Well, not unless I want to face a great deal of hostility. "

Garak rose from his chair, feeling suddenly constricted. He moved to stand behind the coffee table, across from Bashir, "Doctor – and yes, I will continue to call you that, don’t correct me – doctor, I confess what you're telling me does not sound like the Federation I know, although it might be the Federation as it really is, or as I suspected it might really be."

Bashir made a sound of agreement. "You always told me I needed to be more cynical, but in this I definitely was holding onto optimism, which as it turns out was misplaced. Just a desperate hope."

With his hands locked behind his back, Garak paced toward the entrance, just to move around. "And now that you've been found out – and we must talk about this, dear friend – and been effectively exiled, what exactly are you going to do, in the immediate?" He turned and gave the doctor a pointed look. "Is that what you were hoping I could help you with?" 

Bashir nodded. "Yes.” He ran a hand across his forehead before hedging. “Not that I literally expect you to help me, not with arrangements or funds or any such thing. I really just need to talk through this with someone and figure out what my options might be." 

The tailor's mind went back to something the doctor had said earlier. "You said you couldn't talk to anyone else on the station about this. Are you telling me that your fellow officers and people like Miles O'Brien wouldn't be willing to hear you out or assist you?"

Bashir looked away. "It’s not exactly that they wouldn’t be willing to help in some ways or listen to me... But I make them uncomfortable – the humans and Federation, Starfleet people. They'll say they _aren't_ , but I know they _are_. I've heard the things they say about Augments – they said it in front of me for years, not knowing I was one of them. So they'll be helpful, because they know me, but I’ll never be sure if it’s real or coming from pity. And I don't want pity. You don't seem like the pitying type, Garak."

How perceptive of him. "Quite right. I'm not. So why don't you tell me what your plan is." He circled back around the table and resumed his seat.

"That's just it, Garak. I don't have a plan. I knew this could happen. I've known it could happen ever since my parents told me my status when I was fifteen years old." Bashir's speech was halting, as he evidently forced himself to speak truths long bottled up, "Despite this, I never made up any real sort of contingency plan because to me it's smacked to me of – and I don't know if this will come across the universal translator – self-fulfilling prophecy." 

Garak tilted his head; maybe he understood but perhaps the doctor could elaborate? 

"In Standard, or English really, 'self-fulfilling prophecy' means you say something, especially something negative, as in an outcome, and by saying it you make a hypothetical outcome come true. It's a superstition really. Anyway, so in this case I didn't make any real plan, thinking that would somehow 'trigger' my discovery, and now I'm left with extremely limited options, I'm afraid." 

"How limited?" Garak inquired.

The doctor leaned back on the couch, shoulders sagging. "Well, let me give you my sad inventory. Sisko and Starfleet will likely arrange some minimal assistance, compensation for my years of service. And I have Federation credits, which I would I suppose have to convert into something else if I'm not going to be living someplace that takes them. I have skills obviously, but I would need somewhere to practice them, and I have no leads there. Also, as I mentioned, soon I won't have a place to live."  

That did sound rather depressing. "What about family? Your parents?"

Bashir laughed bitterly before covering his face. He then sat up straight and looked Garak in the eyes. "I haven't been on speaking terms with my parents for years. It was their arrival here that precipitated this mess. I'll explain later, I promise." 

His quite but angry voice spoke of a disagreement far deeper than a childhood spat. 

"As for family, my parents had to forgo all existing connections to conceal me and my status, after the illegal enhancements were done. My relatives, like aunts, uncles, even my grandparents, all think I'm dead. They couldn't be trusted to know. If I came back from the dead now, they would likely reject me, family or not. So all that is to say, I don't have a family to go to, Garak." 

The doctor was nearly as alone in the world as he was. Garak might have picked up the fact Bashir never mentioned his parents or family, he realized, except for the fact that he didn't talk about family either. Another thing they had in common. 

"Alright, doctor. Now that I have some idea of your situation, perhaps I could move onto advising you?" He crossed one leg over the other and clasped is his hands over the knee. "I would like to clarify a couple of things. First, would you be allowed to remain here on the station, as a civilian? I would assume so, as it's under Bajoran control, not Federation. Second, would I be right in assuming you would be allowed to move down to Bajor and work there?"

The doctor's posture mirrored his own. "Yes to both questions, although with caveats. I wouldn't wish to remain on the station, Garak. I'd have to see all my colleagues every day and see someone coming in as my replacement and doing my job. And what would I be doing on the station if I weren't a doctor?"

Bashir had a point. "Could you set up a clinic as an independent doctor serving civilians on the station?"

The young man shook his head. That was a ghost of a smile. "I'm afraid not. The station's CMO takes care of the needs of all DS9's inhabitants. Competition would not be tolerated. And it's not really needed. We could check with Quark, but I don’t think it would work as a business venture."

Garak could see the doctor’s point of view, and so he moved on to the more feasible option. "What about on Bajor? Surely they could use your medical expertise? There are clinics, hospitals, research institutes, orphanages all across the planet where you could be of use."

"I know. And I've thought of that, especially about working with orphanages.” The doctor spoke more slowly now and looked wistful. “Early in my career, and in medical school, I thought about going into pediatrics." 

"I remember how distressed you were about those orphans a few years ago. And how hard you worked to ensure the future of the children facing the Teplan blight." 

As much as his values might not always align with the doctor’s, and as much as his beliefs jarred him with their naïve optimism and selflessness, he had to admire his friend’s compassionate heart.

"True. Working with children makes me feel like I’m doing more than just setting things right in the present. It feels like I’m setting things right for the future. And I’d like to do that.” Bashir put his hand over his mouth and sighed through his nose before going on. “The thing is, I don't know if it's really best for Bajor if I go down there."

"Whyever not?" Garak pressed, confounded.

"Because it could jeopardize their chances for acceptance into the Federation,” Bashir explained, going into Starfleet Lieutenant mode. “Which was the goal of our mission here at DS9, originally – to assist Bajor in its recovery so it could hopefully join the Federation."

"And you think the Federation would hold up the planet’s application over one man – one _genetically engineered_ man?" The doctor obviously had an inflated estimation of his own importance.

"Yes!” Bashir insisted. “See, Garak, I know you think I'm always overly optimistic, but here I think _you're_ the one who's overly optimistic, and it's probably because you don't have full comprehension of just how set opinions and prejudices are against people like me." 

Bashir took to his feet and back to pace about the living space. "It doesn't matter what I'm like – what my biography or my history shows or what selfless good deeds I've done or my Starfleet record shows. It's my _status_ , the potential ‘threat’ I pose. It’s the belief I could rise up and become the next Khan Noonian Singh – look him and the Eugenics Wars up – that trumps everything."

The doctor was now in the kitchen nook, where he stood with his back to Garak, fixing himself a drink. "And you know it makes me angry, and I haven't even been able to tell anyone how angry."

"I can understand why you be angry about being discriminated against in such a way,” Garak said. “Cardassians don't have any similar ban or feelings toward genetically engineered individuals."

Bashir turned around, drink in hand. "It's not even entirely that aspect that has me furious, Garak. It's that I have these ‘gifts,’ although it's a _gift_ I never asked for, but nonetheless I have them, this talent, this intelligence and I've hardly been able to use it because I've had to hide it all my life. And now after all that, it’s ruined me!"

"I suppose the bright side is that wherever your life goes now, you won't have to hide this part of yourself anymore." 

How had he been put in the position of being the optimist?

Bashir sat down with his drink. "That's true. If I don’t have to hide, I can just be a doctor, a researcher, and just myself. And not a… _criminal_."

"Though you _would_ make an excellent criminal."

The young man paused in his drinking. "I don't follow, Garak. _Criminal_. Don't you mean _spy_?"

"I know you have fantasies of that, doctor, but no, I _do_ mean criminal. Just think about it: you're hyper intelligent – and I thought so even before this revelation – and you're able to be suave yet understated, and you certainly don't seem 'the type.'"

"That's ridiculous,” Bashir scoffed. “I play at being a spy in the holosuites because I like to be the 'good guy.' I _catch_ criminals and criminal masterminds."

"Yet in fact you are now considered a _criminal_ by your Federation, are you not?” Garak loved wordplay such as this and now that he knew of the doctor’s enhancements, realized he could go further with it than ever. “And I would assume you had to engage in numerous _criminal_ acts to have entered Starfleet and become a doctor when you were specifically barred from doing so. You then went on to conceal your status for five years. More _criminal_ acts?"

The doctor deflated. "Some. The decision to become a doctor and to join Starfleet was mine. And I made it when I was a teenager and I didn't realize, despite my intelligence, all the repercussions. But the various fabrications and lies that allowed me to get through the application process were the work of my father, who's a bit of a con man.” Bashir huffed, expressing clear disgust, then picked up his shot glass.

“After that, a lot of it was simply lies of omission or lies of the concealment. Not giving myself away. Not scoring too high or too perfectly on exams.  Not performing my best on the tennis courts. Doing my work more slowly than I'm actually capable of so that no one would question how I could do such calculations without the aid of a computer. Pretending to forget things or simply seeming to be stupider or ditzier than I really am, so that people would think I was a socially awkward doctor, brilliant his job. But no one would suspect anything beyond that, because I managed it so carefully."

Garak was impressed. He’d been taken in himself, except in a few instances where he’d wondered, and yet even he had not put all the pieces together.

"All in elaborate mask, Bashir. Perhaps you really do have a future in espionage after all."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Garak, that's not really helpful. Although, come to think, it might explain my spy fetish." 

"And why we're friends, dear doctor."

For the first time that day, he saw his friend smile. "Oh, so are you admitting you're a spy? Or _were_ a spy? Cheers!" He raised his nearly empty glass in salute.

"Now, yes.” No use dissembling, now that Bashir knew about Tain. “And with that in mind, I should tell you you should really be more open minded about the profession." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few good fics out there dealing with Bashir's enhancements. I specifically want to call out this one, as it definitely was part of the inspiration for this one.
> 
> Going Native - [Part 1](http://regann.livejournal.com/339652.html) and [Part 2](http://regann.livejournal.com/339241.html) by Regann  
> Dating back to 2008 on LiveJournal, AU take on "Dr. Bashir, I Presume?" which both explores the idea of 1) What if Starfleet wasn't so lenient with Bashir and 2) Garak/Bashir slash. Nicely done!


	2. A Productive Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much every Garak-Bashir story set on DS9 has to involve a replimat lunch, so here we go.

"You're putting me on," Bashir laughed. 

"Excuse me?" Garak clarified. He must have misheard. 

"You're putting me on,” the doctor repeated. “You're not serious about me going into espionage as my next career."

"Well, I still think you shouldn't discount that, but what I meant was... you said I'm _placing you on something_?"

Bashir's mouth opened slightly, apparently in surprise. "Oh. The universal translator bungled the idiom. I _meant_ to say you were teasing me, not serious in your advice." He shook his head faintly. "Glad I didn't say you were ‘pulling my leg,’" he muttered. 

Garak let this pass, opting instead to move the conversation on to more constructive matters. "You know, doctor, we were supposed to have lunch. And while I can certainly understand skipping our usual book discussion today, why don't we head down to the replimat?" 

At Bashir's obvious discomfort at the suggestion, Garak immediately pushed harder. "Come now, can't stay in your quarters forever. The sooner you go out, the sooner you have it over with."  

"I suppose you're right," Bashir hedged. “Although I would like to change my clothes and check the location of my parents. Trust me, I don't want to run into them." 

He rose and went to a computer console, where he picked up a PADD. Bringing it back, he tapped the screen several times, handed over and said, "I don't know if you're interested, but while I'm changing, here's a list of my credentials." 

And with that the doctor was off, ducking into his bedroom. Garak looked down at the PADD display; for such a young man, Bashir appeared to have amassed quite a list of accomplishments. He was, what, 32? And while DS9 had been his first posting with Starfleet, he'd published papers while still in medical school and had made clinical and research advances throughout his medical residency and time in Starfleet Medical. All while keeping his genetically engineered abilities from arousing suspicion. What could he have done if he'd been free to extend his wings, so to speak? 

The doctor emerged from the bedroom, wearing what looked like the same pants but a different shirt. This one was nearly identical to the previous, but obviously newer and in stripes of alternating orange and green. Quite a putrid combination really, but for the moment Garak would leave it alone. 

“My parents appear to be asleep in their guest quarters,” Bashir announced with a hint of cheer. "Ready to go?"  

Garak set down the PADD and headed to the door, which opened with a swish. "Certainly. Now come with me and I'll apply whatever modest intimidation factor a Cardassian tailor can supply towards keeping your fellow station residents off your back."

Bashir followed him out into the hall, towards the nearest turbolift. "And provide moral support, of course."

Garak huffed. "Moral support from me? It’s true, your life is at low ebb, doctor, but I think you'll be alright without my ‘moral support.’ We'll just keep talking, and together I'm sure we can work something out for you. Your credentials are indeed impressive."

At that point a group of four young Starfleet crewmembers passed in the corridors, a Bolian and three humans. All of them, but especially a tall blond male human, gave the doctor a sideways glance, then looked both cross and uncomfortable. Bashir meanwhile was looking at the floor.  

"Head up, my friend," Garak told him as they reached the turbolift. "You've done nothing wrong. Don't act like it. Begin as you mean to go on." 

The lift door closed behind them. "I'll try," the doctor murmured, "but I can't help but feel I'm on some kind of ‘walk of shame.’" He shuddered. "And speaking of which... when you mentioned my credentials back there – it brought to mind that whole Carrington Award business. I was mortified when Jadzia nominated me."

The doors opened and they headed toward the Promenade. "You felt you didn't deserve it."

Bashir was silent for several paces. "In a way. But mainly it terrified me. I'd be so careful to avoid going too far with my abilities. Had I mis-stepped? I didn't want the attention." 

Just then Odo appeared and headed towards them. Another example of unwanted attention?

"Bashir, Garak," the Changeling said, standing with his hands folded behind his back. Garak noticed how the Constable had avoided the use of "Doctor." He and Bashir both inclined their heads in acknowledgment. "I understand, Bashir, that you'll soon be making a change of quarters."

The doctor chuckled but without humor. "At the very least." He shifted from foot to foot, clearly wishing for a swift end to the conversation. 

"Which leads me to ask, although I understand it's still early, if you've given any thoughts to your future plans. Will you remain here on the station?" Odo’s voice was neutral, though as always, gruff.

Bashir ceased his fidgeting. "It's unlikely. If I'm not in Starfleet and I'm not a Federation doctor, there really isn't any place to me here, is there? Though Garak here suggested I try setting up some sort of independent station clinic, it wouldn't work."

Odo eyed Garak, one eyebrow raised, in that artful way he had of imitating humanoid facial expressions. "You've been advising the former lieutenant?"

Before he could answer, Bashir interceded. "Yes, he has been. He might be the best person to do so. He doesn't have the prejudice of some others here on the station. Perhaps you noticed the reaction from even some of the officers here?"

Odo's lips compressed to a thin line. "I did notice. And I understand some of their concerns, but it does seem to me that you're the same person today as you were yesterday."

Bashir quirked a small smile. "Thank you, Constable."

"And now," Garak began, taking Bashir's arm lightly, "if you don't mind, we were headed to have lunch, just as usual."

Odo stepped aside. "Of course. Please let me know if I could be of any assistance. I have excellent connections on Bajor." 

"Thank you," said the doctor, and together they moved on. 

Once amongst the replimat crowd, they ceased conversation. They spoke their orders to the replicators and together sought out a table. 

Again, Garak noticed a few sideways glances and even couple of head turns. He was somewhat shocked, however, when the moment they sat down at a small table, the diners at the adjacent table, Starfleet and Federation personnel, stood up and moved across the restaurant. All of them were human, except for one Bajoran, who lingered behind briefly looking uncertain, before following her friends.  

Across from him, Bashir was glaring at his tray of food, which he was making no move to eat. "Maybe I should just sign up with the crew of a freighter crew headed through the wormhole," he mused, running a finger along the lip of his teacup. "The sooner I get off this station the better."

Now there was a point Garak could relate to. "You do realize, doctor, that you're not the first person to be shunned on this station." Bashir looked up, engaged. Good. "Think of me, five years after the withdrawal from Bajor, and still the loathing, the snubs, the business that will never come my way. Tikani Tizrith, the Bajoran who runs the jewelers next door to my shop, has never spoken to me once. Not even after it was destroyed."

The doctor seemed to consider, leaning back in his chair and breathing in deeply. "That's true. Sorry for complaining to you – of all people. But… you think I'd get used to it?"

Garak picked up his own beverage, a glass of rokassa juice, and took a sip. "You'd be surprised how you get inured to it, even without a brain implant." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "But I don't think you'll have to, as you won't be staying here – not permanently. Visiting maybe, but that's different than month after month." 

At last Bashir reached for his tea. "You're right. I suppose silently moving across a restaurant isn't even bad, as reactions go." He took several slow sips of the warm liquid, looking be putting an effort into getting rid of the tension that had gathered in his body. 

"Quite right," Garak agreed. He had now started on the bowl of stew. "With that in mind, why don't you try eating something? And I know it might be futile to say so, but I advise you to eat slowly. Digestion and anxiety do not mix well."

The doctor set down his tea cup and picked up a fork. "I'll try." 

Bashir must have applied some inner discipline at that point, because he truly did not speed through his meat pie and potatoes. In between bites, there were more slow sips of tea. After being wound up for hours, the doctor was willing himself to calm down.  

"You know," the doctor said thoughtfully, as he was just finishing up, "for years, more than half my life, I've thought this day would be the worst day of my life."  

"And has that proven true?" Garak asked. 

"The day's only half through, so I'd be premature in making a judgement, but so far I suppose it could be worse." He pushed away his tray and set his elbows on the table. "I could be in prison. Or they could be talking about sending me back to Earth to live under medical observation or in some other confinement. For the good of society and edification of science." 

"Your species is most strange, Bashir," Garak observed. 

The doctor sighed and rested his chin on one fist. "I have news for you, my friend. My identity file has been updated. I'm no longer considered a human. I'm listed as a 'Post-Eugenics Augment' – not _human_ , officially."

Even though Bashir had known this all along, surely this formal change in label must be extremely unsettling. "My observation about humans' strangeness still stands."

A wry smile. "Well, you said it, not me. If _I_ were to say such a thing, they'd accuse me of having a superior attitude and wanting to take over the station."

"But if _I_ say it, I'm a non-Federation individual expressing an opinion," Garak returned in a mock-confidential voice, leaning across the table. 

The moment passed quickly, however, as Bashir switched his posture, elbows coming down and head up. 

"Hello, Julian," Garak heard Major Kira say from behind. Then she appeared at the side of their table. 

"Major, hello," said Julian, with some hesitancy. "Garak and I were just finishing up lunch. A bit of normalcy on a tumultuous day."

Kira nodded curtly in understanding. "I was counting on that, which is why I came down from Ops to seek you out." She turned to drag a chair over. "I wanted to talk to you." She spared a glance at Garak. "Do you mind?"

"I don't mind at all," he said, using his best customer service voice. 

Kira glared.  

"Garak stays," Bashir announced. "And I'd be happy to talk. Happy _someone_ wants to talk. Odo did speak with me briefly, but he was as brusque as you'd expect."

Kira's posture in the chair relaxed slightly. "I can imagine. Look," she said, turning to the doctor, "I just wanted to let you know that I'm really sorry about everything that's happened. I'm not Federation and I don't quite get what seems to be bothering the humans so much." 

"That's exactly what Odo said," Bashir noted. 

"Well, that makes at least two of your immediate colleagues who support you," she said. She glanced at Garak and then back to the doctor. "So have you two been making plans – I mean, talking over options? Any idea what you're going to do next, Julian?"

"I've only had a few hours, Major, but yes I've started to flesh out some ideas, with Garak's help," he explained. "My options are rather limited, so I'm having to be creative."

Bashir then went on to give the major a compressed explanation of the situation, to what extent his opportunities had been narrowed, and the limits of his resources.

Although Kira had peppered the doctor with questions as he spoke, it wasn't until he finished that she truly shared her thoughts or advice. 

"Julian, I don't have to tell you, that I've had my problems with you, especially when we first met," she began, "and I've certainly shared my problems with the Federation. But I can appreciate how you've been trapped in all this, by your parents and now by these laws and restrictions." 

Kira leaned back and tipped the chair onto its rear legs. "But I think you're onto something, thinking about work on Bajor."

Garak beamed in her direction and then turned to Bashir. "There, you've heard it from both of us, perhaps you should listen."

Kira let the chair down on all four legs again. "And I could definitely help. I can go straight to Shakaar – you probably could too, but he and I..." She gave the doctor a meaningful look and let him fill in the blanks. "I could see what might be needed at the federal health ministry. If you have any specific ideas I could bring to him, that would be great. It's not as though health and medicine is his background."

Garak listened in as Bashir offered up a few ideas, apparently spun out on the fly. What about a clinic in the federal capital full capable of treating both Bajorans and offworlders? That way non-Bajorans wouldn't have to come up to the station for critical emergencies and the station wouldn't have to send down help. Training in xenobiology would be needed and Bashir was certainly up for that challenge, with four years’ experience on the station plus everything he learned in medical school. What was the state of medical education on the planet? By the end of it Kira was nodding her head, telling him he'd offered up _more_ than enough ideas and she would be speaking to First Minister Shakaar as soon as she could. 

After the major left, the doctor appeared much more relaxed. Good, though Garak, because he couldn't spend the rest of the afternoon comforting him. 

"Well, that was a productive lunch," Garak announced, standing and taking up his tray. "However, I'm afraid I must return to my shop. I have a commission and then there are the usual customers."

"Of course, of course," Bashir said, also standing. "I understand. I probably have a number of things I need to take care of now." Together they walked towards the reclamation units. "But could we meet up again for dinner?"

Garak placed his tray in the reclaimer, then took the doctor's and did the same. "I'd be delighted if we did. In fact, why don't you come over my quarters?"

Bashir appeared mildly startled. "Your quarters? Now that’s a first."

"But not unwelcome, I hope. Besides, I assume you'll still be wanting to avoid your parents?" Now they were leaving the replimat, headed in the direction of his shop.  

"Yes, although I'm not sure I'll be able to manage it all afternoon," the doctor grumbled. "By dinner I will definitely want an escape." He was quiet for several paces before he resumed speaking. "You know, I haven’t been up to your quarters since the incident – you know the one."

He did indeed, and he appreciated the fact the doctor knew he didn't want to discuss it directly, especially not on the Promenade. 

"Yes, Bashir, I'm aware. But we know one another much better now." After a moment’s consideration, he decided he might linger on the matter of the implant a little longer albeit obliquely.

"Thanks, by the way, for all of that. It was brave of you, extremely brave, to seek out Tain and face him." He could hardly picture the confrontation in his head, it was so improbable, and yet he knew it had happened, or else he wouldn't have survived. 

"I don't know if I was brave, Garak. It's been said that bravery is simply just doing what has to be done,” Bashir said modestly. “Given the circumstances, I felt I had to go to Tain, despite the danger and the real risk I might be kidnapped or tortured or killed."

"Ah, so you _did_ realize the danger," Garak murmured. They now stood in front of his closed shop. But of course the doctor had realized; he was genetically enhanced with heightened intelligence and probably knew _exactly_ who we was going to see. 

"Yes, I knew the danger, but I had to _pretend_ I didn't," Bashir admitted. "As part of my cover – to keep up my front of being naïve and leaping without looking."

Garak entered the security code to open up the shop. "Not foolish bravery after all, just bravery made to _look_ like foolish bravery."

"I'm not sure what kind it was, but I _did_ know exactly what I was doing and that I was doing it for you. I couldn't bear to see you die."

Garak didn't know how to reply to this, so instead he simply said, "Well, dear doctor, see you for dinner then? About 1900?" 

Judging from his expression, Bashir noticed the evasion, yet simply said, "I'll be there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering about the rather overt hostility exhibited toward Bashir, which didn't come up in canon (where Bashir was allowed to remain), it's my attempt to blend in just a _bit_ of the sorts of prejudices that dominate this FANTASTIC DS9 fic. I recommended it when I posted ["May I Come In?"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7458433) and am happy to do so again. It's great!
> 
> [The Manipulation of Julian Bashir](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11177843/1/The-Manipulation-of-Julian-Bashir) by The Tystie  
>  This relatively recent novel-length (2015 on ff.net) is one of the best DS9 fics -- or Star Trek fics -- I have _ever_ read. It is virtually ALL about Bashir's backstory, with the genetic manipulation, the Federation and Earth's stance on it, etc. And on top of it, there is superb world-building (of Earth!!!) and the deepest, best depiction of Benjamin Sisko I have ever seen. Also the most incredible Bashir ever. Seriously! One thing I will mention is that this is _not_ a Garak/Bashir story.


	3. Hypocrites and Hucksters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a busy mid-day spent attempting to help Bashir sort out his life, which has been turned upside down, Garak is now back at his shop.

That afternoon at Garak's Clothiers, a certain Cardassian tailor kept himself busy with work on a wedding dress, regular customer orders and interactions, plus a special project: catching up on the history of Earth's Eugenics Wars.

Through exposure to its literature, conversations with Bashir and his own reading, Garak had grown somewhat familiar with the planet's history, but this particular era was not one he had encountered in anything but a passing manner. Although it would make sense if Bashir had deliberately steered clear of that particular topic. 

As the end of the day neared and customer traffic died down, he had more time to reflect on what he had learned. Earth had been rocked, literally and psychologically, by these armed conflicts and the specter of eugenics. Afterward humans had opted to turn fully away from both of them. And while they have obviously not been able to avoid war – witness current conflict – their rejection of eugenics and genetically engineered humans had remained.

Individual scientists had continued to pursue the area illicitly and humans, like Bashir's parents it seemed, had sought the procedure outside Federation borders. Meanwhile "Human Augments" were stuck in the middle. Their existence was no fault of their own and the numbers were quite low. Certainly they didn’t have the numbers to launch a takeover of Earth or the Federation. And yet they were treated like a deadly virus. Once uncovered, Bashir could not remain in contact, lest he contaminate the whole. 

Garak was moving on to his closing routine, straightening displays and sorting work orders, when Odo strode in. The security chief’s posture held the casualness that indicated his appearance was not related to official business, yet nonetheless was false; Odo, Garak had come to understand, did not do "casual." Having gotten to know the Changeling after the doomed assault on the Founders' homeworld, he and Odo had grown to have a relationship that could only be termed friendship. While not particularly deep, it was one of the only such relationships Garak had on the station

"Hello, Constable," he greeted, looking up from a rack of jackets. "I know you're not here for a replacement uniform or new pair of pajamas, so what _does_ bring you here?"

The security chief predictably harrumphed and clasped his hands behind his back. "Our mutual friend, Bashir."

Garak didn't pause in his work, but simply moved on to a table of trousers. "Oh?" 

"Yes." The Changeling's eyes were on the trousers, as if he cared. "I had opportunity this afternoon to sample the climate on the station with regard to our former Chief Medical Officer." 

" _Sample?_ I believe you mean you _eavesdropped_." Oh, how he enjoyed such sparring, even on a small scale. "And by _eavesdropped_ , I believe you mean you _disguised yourself as a cocktail glass or a wall hanging_." 

Odo's face remained blank as usual. "I'd rather not discuss my methods with you, Garak. Only my results."

"Of course." If any other Changelings were like Odo, they would make the best of espionage agents. But of course they weren't; he couldn't even entirely trust Odo. "And so? What did you hear? Or _find_ , as it were?" 

The Constable followed Garak back to the sales desk, where he honestly didn't intend to work but could at least get off his feet. 

"I chiefly found that on the subject of Human Augments, humans as well as other Federation species hold rather hypocritical attitudes," the Changeling rumbled. "They claim such tolerance, and humans profess the Vulcan principle of IDIC – Infinity Diversity in Infinity Combinations – yet when it comes to Augments, their tolerance seems rather low." 

Garak tilted his head in agreement. "Yes. I researched the matter of the Eugenics Wars this afternoon and while I understand their pull-back from the practice of widespread genetic manipulation, the shunning of the few and far between individuals like the doctor seems uncalled for." 

"I can't say I'm surprised," Odo said, pacing in the space in front of the counter. "I've faced intolerance many times myself – the fear of the different. I've had mobs attack me on this station. I've seen people attacked or killed simply for their species, nothing to do with their acts. It's not something confined to humans. Yet humans are so..." he paused and sought for a word. "So..."

"Sanctimonious?" Garak supplied. "And they chastise everyone else about it, as if they were never guilty of such a thing?"

Odo stopped pacing and unclasped his hands to bring them to his front "Yes. A metaphor of human origin comes to mind: People who live in glass houses should not throw stones." 

"What a wonderful image!” Garak exclaimed. “And now, Constable, if you could tell me the specifics of what you found?" 

Odo stood across the counter as he delivered his report. "A lot of talk about why and how Bashir had concealed himself, and what he might have been up to, covertly, while he was doing so. Questions about his loyalty as a Starfleet officer, how he might have been, or still is, in collusion with the Founders, the Romulans, the Cardassians. Speculation that he's not the only Augment hiding in Starfleet and that there could be a plot, started years ago, with Augment cells planted throughout the fleet, ready to emerge when the time is right." 

Garak rose from his chair. As he'd judged earlier, the humans really were enormously paranoid on this matter. "I suspect there's more to this than fear of a takeover or a recurrence of the past, Constable. I think it comes down in part to simply being afraid of being relegated to the role of an inferior. Measured next to an Augment like Bashir, a human is bound to feel it's simply ‘unfair.’ How can he possibly enjoy the same privileges as they do when he has such an unfair advantage? So they want those advantages stripped away – like a tree cut back so the shrubs below it can get sunlight." 

The security chief grunted. "Gardening metaphors?"

"Indeed. Bashir told me himself earlier today he felt just like that, as if he'd never been allowed to use any of his abilities. Mostly this was so he wouldn't be caught, I imagine, but I suppose even if his status weren't illegal, he would still have felt compelled to rein himself in, to avoid sparking jealousy or feelings of unfairness."

"Which would in turn have felt unfair to _him_ ," Odo mused. "I have often had to conform to standards of humanoid behavior and behavior I personally have no use for. Doing so makes others comfortable, even though it limits me."

The Changeling, despite his generally expressionless face, had enormous reserves of empathy.

Hands on the countertop, Garak assessed the shop. He'd finished with everything that needed doing. Anything else could wait until morning. "Well, thank you very much for the report, Constable. I do appreciate it. But now I'm in fact headed to my quarters, where the doctor and I are meeting for dinner."

Odo followed him to the front of the shop. "Going beyond lunch?"

He stepped outside and began to close the gates. "Yes. Tonight there's still so much to discuss. It was clear to me he requires assistance – and his colleagues won't be the ones to provide it."

Odo nodded in agreement. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. As I mentioned, my contacts on Bajor are excellent."

"I don't doubt it," Garak said, setting the shop alarms. "Thank you."

And with a polite inclination of the head on both sides, each went in their separate ways. 

* * *

Garak was putting the finishing touches on dinner when he heard the entrance chime. 

"Who is it?" he asked, making an adjustment to the dried flower arrangement at the center of the table.  

"Julian– I mean Bashir," a tired voice replied. Garak went to the entrance and let his friend in. 

 "Bashir, come in," he urged, after a quick up and down inspection. "Sit down on the sofa and I'll have dinner for you in five minutes."

The doctor acquiesced without rejoinder, moving to small sofa and curling up at one end. Eyeing him from the counter where he arranged the dinner dishes, Garak thought his friend looked momentarily sucked of all his strength. 

"So what happened?" he ventured. The table was now nearly set. 

"My parents happened," Bashir replied dispiritedly. "We fought for hours. No bruises on the outside but my body's instincts are still telling me to go hide in a hole." 

The tailor set the main dish down and eyed dinner. Everything was perfect. 

"And who won the fight, doctor?" he inquired. 

"No one," Bashir sighed. "And actually I'd rather not talk about it, at least not until I've had dinner and am a bit less queasy."

Garak stepped over to the sofa and extended an arm. "Well, it's ready, so come on over." With a tug, he had Bashir on his feet and headed him in the direction of a full Cardassian meal. 

Garak had certainly seen the doctor pile in food before, but this time it was different. Bashir wasn't rushing and on top of that, he was completely absorbed in his meal. He wasn't chatting and he didn't seem distracted either. He might actually be tasting the flavors. Several times he asked for the names of dishes and gave quiet thanks when Garak supplied them. There was not a scrap of food left over when the doctor was finished.  

"I take it you were desperately need of a meal?" he asked, after the doctor I put down his fork. 

Bashir attempted to smooth back his hair with one hand. "Well, it's true I wasn't exactly focused on eating at lunch, but really I just didn't want to think about my life just now. And in here, with you and this table of Cardassian food, I thought of how many times you’ve told me to slow down and actually _taste_ what I was eating. So I tried it out your advice."

Garak slipped out of his seat and moved to the cabinets. "And how was it? I mean both the experience of actually paying attention to your food and the Cardassian food. Two new concepts at once!" Hopefully Bashir would have found at least one of these experiences satisfactory.  

"It was good," Bashir offered. "Particularly the regova eggs. I could eat a lot of those. And the stew. And as far as taking my time, I will say I noticed that with those vegetables, the taste didn't actually come out unless I chewed and they sat in mouth for just a bit – instead of instantly swallowing it down."

Returning to the table with two glasses of kanar, Garak tut-tutted. "Aren't such matters as the proper chewing of food presented by parents to a child when they're small? Even on Earth?"

Bashir, who'd been extending his hand to accept the glass, now crossed his arms and turned sideways. "I suppose so, Garak, though I'm really not the person to ask. My childhood wasn't anything typical. And speaking of parents..." He turned back towards the table. "Give it here. I definitely need a drink." 

Garak slid over the glass and resumed his seat. Each took a drink but neither spoke. Who would begin? 

Turning the tumbler in his hand, Bashir sighed. "Here on the station, I've never spoken of my parents, to you or anyone. I just... _don't_."  

"You said you're not on speaking terms," Garak attempted to clarify. 

The doctor closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them. "No. I decided years ago that had nothing further to say to them. When pushed to it like today, there's shouting." He paused to take a sip of his kanar. "Even if I did talk _to_ them, though, I wouldn't talk _about_ them, though. They're embarrassing. Well, my father is at least."

Garak doubted the doctor's father could be more problematic than his own, but still he asked the question. "How is your father embarrassing?"

Bashir rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "How _isn't_ he?" He rose from his seat, carrying his drink, and gestured toward the sitting area. "Let me tell you."

Garak sat down in the armchair by the sofa. "Alright. I'm waiting."

Bashir finished off his kanar and lowered himself onto the sofa. "My father has always been a fraud – a huckster, a con man. He makes grand plans, but if they don't work out, which they usually don't, he makes excuses, blames someone else, makes a new plan, runs away. If asked about the last failure, it never existed, it was an enormous success – only _success_ for Richard Bashir.”

From Bashir’s voice and expression, these words seemed like they must be the ghosts of what he’d been saying for most of the afternoon. 

“So he has a long string of projects to his name – restaurants, diplomatic jobs, landscaping designs – which are nothing more than puffs of air. And if you actually know this and dare point it out to him – well, you're ungrateful, you're hateful, and you don't want him to succeed."

The father did not sound much like the son. "And did you do any of this 'pointing out' today?" Garak asked.

The doctor stretched his neck. "If you consider that I – my entire life – am one of his failed projects, yes." Bashir leaned forward on the sofa. "The resequencing, the new identity, the lying, obfuscation – one scramble after another, trying to fix things, only getting into more of a mess. And I just learned today that he funded the original genetics work by gambling! And today was more of the same. All afternoon he kept alternating between offering up absurd solutions for how I can get out of this situation – cheats that would never work – and managing to place the blame on me. 'Jules! You can't let them do this! You're a Bashir!'" Apparently the doctor was imitating his pompous father's voice. "A Bashir. I really don't care if I ever see him again." 

Garak turned this over in his head. Earlier the doctor had explained that he was "dead" to all his relatives. He certainly sounded estranged from his father. And right now he'd been tossed out by the Federation. 

"What about your mother?" he asked. 

Bashir shrugged. "She's better, but I don't know what to do with her. So I'd just rather stay away. She exudes sympathy, which from someone else I could appreciate, but from her, I just get angry. I can tell what she's really waiting for, what she really expects: some sort of blanket forgiveness. Actually she's asked me for that: 'Jules, what's done is done – can't you finally forgive us?"

There it was again, that name. "Doctor, this might be off topic, can I ask you something?" His friend nodded. "You just quoted both of your parents and in so doing had them using a name I've never heard. _Jules_?"

"Jules." Bashir half-whispered the word. "My childhood name, since infancy. Everyone called me that. When I was fifteen and found out about the resequencing, I decided that ‘Jules’ was the boy I was born and that ‘Julian’ was the new me, the _second_ me, who had survived. I told my parents I refused to answer to ‘Jules’ anymore and told everyone else that it was just a childhood nickname I didn't want anymore." He ran a hand down one side of his face, as if clearing away bad memories. "But they've never been good about stopping it. They almost always call me ‘Jules.’"

The more Bashir spoke of his peculiar childhood, the more questions Garak had. But he suspected the doctor would not appreciate an entire night answering questions, so it was time to discover a workaround.

"Tell me, doctor, is there any way I could get an explanation for all of this, what's happened, your childhood?" he asked, sitting down his own glass of kanar, which he'd finally finished. "You've filled me in on bits and pieces and I know your present situation, but–"

"Actually there is," Bashir interrupted. "Sorry. I was actually thinking of it when I came up here. It will save me having to tell you are you having to ask me."

"Sounds perfect," said Garak. "What is it?" 

"The official Federation news report and another news report I pulled, believe it or not, are accurate enough I'd be happy to share them with you." He reached forward and took up a small PADD from the low table by the sofa. "They came out about an hour ago and I found them while my parents were bickering." 

Garak accepted the PADD when it was offered and saw the two highlighted headlines. "Should I read them now?" he asked. 

Bashir was turning sideways on the sofa and stretching out, with one hand over his eyes. "Go ahead. I'd rather you knew everything. That way at least the questions you ask won't be so basic."

And so he did read, first the official Federation news report and then a second, from a less official but nonetheless reliable source. Apparently not much information on the doctor's exact ‘enhancements’ have yet been uncovered, but the sequence of events, including a trip to Adigeon Prime and the Emergency Medical Hologram project that proved his undoing, were all filled in and brought everything together. 

But still, the question was, what was next for Bashir?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to recommend another Garak-Bashir fic having to do with the genetics thing. Because I like those, obviously!
> 
> [Got to Begin Again](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386448/chapters/5272862) by Vaiya  
> This 2014 fic is unfinished. One of my favorite parts is the first scene, where Garak brings up some moral issues that I had not thought of. It hits Bashir hard. I actually mentioned a couple of these in my fic here when Garak talks about criminality. Another thing about this fic is that Garak helps Julian out, since as in this one, Julian has lost his job. Alas, the story just stops dead just as you're thinking it's going to get awesome.


	4. Sentiments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a longer delay than I would've liked, here's the final chapter of this little story. Hope everyone enjoys it. Comments appreciated.
> 
> ### Special Announcement: New GB Fanfic Blog!
> 
>  **  
> **  
> [GARAK + BASHIR](http://gplusbfics.tumblr.com)  
>  In the interim since I posted Chapter 3, I've launched a blog devoted to Garak-Bashir (Garashir) fanfic! In the new Tumblr, I share out my stash of favorite GB stories (mostly slash, some not). I've been moving them from bookmarks into a spreadsheet and it looks like I have about 300. Maybe more. Anyway, posting my rec with links and comments, avoiding spoilers, about one a day. Plus fun GB content like photos, GIFs, quotes, etc. So if that sounds good, check it out. If you're on Tumblr, follow it (http://gplusbfics.tumblr.com). And there's an RSS feed if you do stuff that way. ENJOY!

Garak looked towards the sofa, where Bashir was still stretched out, hand over his eyes, but unlikely to be asleep. The doctor was skilled at pretending, more skilled than Garak ever would have imagined. To think they had each been misdirecting one another all this time!

He had similarly never guessed how isolated the seemingly social and gregarious young doctor was. True, his present situation was far more extreme, but every waking moment for _years_ Bashir had known he was different from other humans, a fact he’d had to conceal, and which risked discovery at any false move.

The young man was estranged from his parents and "dead" to his extended family. He'd had a few romantic liaisons on the station, true, but nothing lasting -- probably, Garak surmised, because he couldn't let anyone close. That Bashir had his friend O'Brien, the trust and admiration of his commander -- these were all blessings, but also now likely things of the past. That life was behind him. He might also be leaving his Cardassian friend behind.

Garak prided himself on his ability to remain dispassionate; allowing sentiment get in the way of rational goals was a sure way to find oneself up to the neck in it. Camp 371 being a major case in point. And yet in that moment, considering Bashir's departure, wherever he might be off to, Garak did indeed feel the tug of sentiment.

Over the years since they'd first met, he'd come to consider the doctor as more than a convenient way of cozying up to the Federation, or as a companion to be tolerated, but as an actual friend. And in fact Garak had even considered that Bashir might become more than a friend, but he'd shut down that line of thought every time it came up. Sentiment! The handsome doctor wasn't interested anyway, or else he would've picked up on all his cues, which had been many. Garak had tried to hold back, but with so many opportunities and such obliviousness, he'd given in to temptation. In any case, it was just as well nothing had happened, as the man would soon be leaving. Best not to become attached; it's what he'd always said and he'd go right on saying it.

The entry chime rang, interrupting Garak’s thoughts. "Now who could that be?" he muttered, going to the door. Bashir sat up and blinked his eyes.

It was Kira. "Good evening, Major. What brings you here?"

The major appeared slightly uncomfortable; no doubt she really didn't want to be coming to Garak.

"I'm actually here to talk to Julian," she explained. "I went to his quarters just now and he wasn't in, so I asked the computer to locate him."

Bashir appeared at the Cardassian's shoulder. "Hello. Looking for me? Come in."

"Yes, do come in," Garak echoed. He led the major to a chair. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Kira sat but waved the offer aside. "No thanks. I wasn't planning on staying long, and besides I'm meeting Jadzia for dinner. We'll have something then."

Settling beside Garak on the sofa, the doctor stretched out his long legs. "So what is it, Nerys?"

Kira wasn't sitting fully back in the chair and he legs were bent. She wasn't poised for flight but for a fight, Garak judged. In Quark's or other times out on the Promenade, she might be more relaxed, but in the presence of a Cardassian, it seemed she simply couldn't be.

"Well, I have good news for you," she began. "Another matter came up this afternoon that required I contact Shakaar, so after we'd settled that, I brought up your situation."

Garak glanced sideways at the doctor to check his expression: guarded but hopeful.

"He already knows you, and what you do here, but I did a little more work, filling him in on things he might not know, like physician training, xenobiology, pediatrics." She looked down at her lap and fidgeted a bit with the piping on her uniform. "Then I told him about some of the ideas we'd tossed around briefly -- the clinics, an education program. And he was very, very interested!"

Bashir blinked several times. "That's... thank you, that's great."

"Indeed, that was speedy work, Major," Garak complimented.

Kira gave a small shrug. "I think maybe this just the right time. Anyway, he was quite enthused and said he'd be happy for you to come down to the planet to meet as soon as he can arrange a spot on his calendar. After that, you'd be meeting with various aides and counselors."

Now Bashir's mouth was slightly agape. "Really? He said that?"

Kira chuckled. "Yes! And it was on visual so I know it was him."

"Thank you, Nerys," Bashir said again. "I really didn't even think I had that option, but Garak mention it and so did you. And now Shakaar is interested. Maybe there's something to it."

"I hope so," she said. "I don't think you should have to run across the galaxy over this."

Kira then rubbed her hands on her thighs, which to Garak signaled she was about done with business. Instead, with uncharacteristic hesitation, she continued.

"There's something else I wanted to say before I left, Julian. Something I've wanted to bring up before, but didn't."

"What's that?" Bashir asked, looking puzzled.

"Well, it's something I wanted to ask you, but I didn't, because I thought it might jeopardize your Starfleet career. And why do that if I didn't have to?"

Garak was now quite curious about where the Bajoran was going.

"Are you talking about my genetic enhancements?" Bashir asked. "You didn't guess that, did you?"

Kira shook her head. "Oh no. This was something else." She ran a hand quickly through her hair. "I guess I'll just spit it out, and may as well do it while Garak is here."

What _was_ the major's question?

Kira took a breath. "What I've wanted to ask, for at least three years, but especially this past year is... Julian, are you and Garak _together_?"

Of all the things the major could've asked! Garak, against his training, froze. So, he noticed, did Bashir. But the doctor was going to have to answer the question.

After a pregnant pause, Bashir put a hand over his mouth and coughed nervously. "Well... we're friends, as you know, and I've been very glad of it, but aren't 'together,' in the sense you mean it. As a couple."

Garak could see Kira was about to apologize for voicing the question when Bashir continued. "But, now that I'm not in Starfleet, I can tell you that I wish Garak and I _were_ an item." The doctor slid a shy sideways glance Garak's way, then looked back at the major.

"I would have tried to make it happen, but for two things. One, I could not risk possible exposure of my genetic status, which I'm sure Garak would have noticed if he'd grown closer to me."

Garak's heart clenched. He'd not been able to give in to sentiment. Well, Julian had faced the same predicament.

"Two, I was worried about how Starfleet might judge a relationship with a Cardassian ex-spy. Fraternizing with someone who, for example, would presently be considered a past agent of the Federation's enemy, or at least one of their allies. And I wanted to stay in Starfleet, and also avoid scrutiny because it might lead to discovery of my genetic status. So I had to disavow the possibility."

Bashir had slammed the door on sentiment doubly. He was certainly not as soft as Garak has once judged him.

But what did either of Bashir's reasons matter now? Garak took a leap of faith. Something he never did. Too much like sentiment.

He turned to the doctor and took his hand. "In that case, my dear, you should definitely do your best to see you do find work on Bajor."

"Why's that?" asked Bashir.

Garak pressed his palm against the human's in the Cardassian fashion. "Because if you leave, how am I ever going to have my way with you? I've been waiting for years!"

The major burst out laughing, while the doctor turned and gaped at her.

"What's so funny?" Garak demanded, managing a straight face.

Kira's eyes were twinkling as she replied. "I _knew_ it! Mostly because unlike all the other senior officers, I actually can read the signs of Cardassian flirting."

Oh, now _that_ was embarrassing. Caught out by a Bajoran.

"And then I wondered if it was one-sided," she continued, “only to see how Julian kept coming back to you like a puppy, despite how I'd hear you dismissing Earth literature or otherwise picking on him. Somebody else would've been put off. And on top of that," she eyed the doctor, "I kept seeing Julian's relationships and how they ended up. If they were even _relationships_. They were over quickly, most of them."

Bashir exhaled loudly. "Thanks, Nerys, for your assessment of my love life." He raised his eyebrows. "Though I suppose that's accurate."

The major stood. "And I suppose I should be going." She extended her hand in an Earth-style handshake, which Bashir accepted. "I'll work on wangling you a place on Shakaar's calendar," she promised, walking towards the door.

"Thank you, Nerys," the doctor said. And then she was gone.

Before his rational mind could clamp down on the impulse, Garak had Bashir in his arms. He nuzzled the doctor's neck a few centimeters below the ear -- exactly the spot he would if Bashir were Cardassian. The physiology must have translated, because the human gasped and took his lips to the side of Garak's neck in turn.

The sensation was overwhelming. He'd wanted this more than he'd let himself realize. Nonetheless, after a few seconds of mutual enjoyment, he pulled back and looked Bashir in the eyes.

"Well now," he began. "Apparently I should've hacked into your files years ago and exposed you. Then we wouldn't have waited so long for this moment."

Bashir laughed and rolled his eyes. "That joke's in rather poor taste, Garak, but luckily I appreciate your sense of humor, and you, so I'll tolerate it. And besides, I now see that, amazingly, something good might come out of this mess."

Garak squeezed Bashir tighter. "Oh, I do hope so, my dear doctor. I do hope so."

^Fade to Black^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Exile for Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10754247) by [wcdarling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wcdarling/pseuds/wcdarling)




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